Save A Penny For The Surgeon
by EmilyJustice
Summary: Toby ran off into the night after cutting Sweeney's throat, without looking back. The memory, however, of all that he went through stays with him. What sort of man can he become? Read and review, please!
1. I

**A/N:** Hi there! Emily here, with a Sweeney Todd fic that really has little to do with Sweeney at all. It's all about Toby!

I'll warn you now that I've taken liberties with this fic, both with the Sweeney Todd story (Anthony says he "doesn't know anyone in London", but I've given him parents there) and historical figures (creating nonexistent additions to families that did exist), but since taking liberties is what fanfiction is all about, I hope you'll forgive me.

I don't own Sweeney Todd, any of the Sweeney Todd canon, or any of the real historical people; the ones that you don't recognize are the ones that belong to me. I think there are about two...

Anyhoo, this is just a short little fic based on an idea that I had. Enjoy!

-Emily

* * *

London, March of 1875 

It was dark, but after comprehending what he'd been living through the past few weeks Toby Ragg was hardly afraid of the dark. His haste in running away from Fleet Street was more out of fear of what he had left there. Sweeney Todd was dead—Toby'd cut the man's throat himself—but the boy wouldn't have put it past the demon to come back to life.

Hot tears drenched his face as he bemoaned the fate of Mrs. Lovett. Stupid woman, to trust a man like Todd! Toby had thought she'd been misled, but no—she'd known all about it. Hearing their conversation...it had quite broken Toby's heart, to know that the woman he loved so much had been one of the bad people.

The pounding of his feet on the cobbled street slowed and ceased as the boy finally came to a halt. He'd reached the river Thames. If he kept going, he'd end up back at the workhouse. He wouldn't have thought that so bad, after Pirelli, but Mrs. Lovett, however evil, had always treated him better than that. He didn't think he could stand the workhouse now.

Toby found himself a corner and pressed his back firmly against it, sliding down until he was curled up, looking out on the empty square. He'd try to sleep, and ask around for work at the Market tomorrow.

* * *

Mrs. Anne Hope bounced into the Dunstan St. Market like a biddy on a mission. Her husband, Richard Hope, was a surgeon; though he was skilled enough to be surgeon to the royal family, Mrs. Hope was sure, he was too kind-hearted. He offered his services, at much lower prices, to the poor folks in Whitechapel. She was stopping at the market on her way to what she'd been told was a good workhouse to see about hiring a house boy, who could help her when he was home, and give assistance to Mr. Hope, should he have a call. 

A voice carried over the hubbub of the market and caught her ears:

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please! Do you find yourself heavy with too many charges and not enough time to attend to them all? About ready to fall? Well, ladies and gentlemen, look no farther for aid! I will swear on my life that I'll always be there to take on your burden with marvelous care—please allow me to share!"

Mrs. Hope turned around and saw a boy, almost five feet tall, with hair that might have been brown, large eyes, large ears, and an altogether gangly appearance. He was dirty and rumpled, but his voice was so earnest Mrs. Hope's heart was warmed, and she approached him.

"Are you looking for work, lad?" she asked.

"I am, mum," the boy replied. He looked a bit distant in the eyes, Mrs. Hope thought, but with the sort of life he must've had up until then she didn't wonder that he'd be a bit distant. _Time'll take care of that_, she assured herself, _time and goodwill._

"Well, as it happens, I am looking for a house boy," she said with a smile. "My name is Mrs. Anne Hope."

"Tobias Ragg, mum," the boy replied, bowing his head. "But everyone calls me Toby."

"And about how old do you think you are?"

"I'd guess around twelve, mum."

"And you're a strong lad?"

"Yes mum. I'd prove it now but, beggin' your pardon, I'm stronger when fed," Toby said. He had a slightly sick look on his face for a moment, but it passed and he smiled earnestly at Mrs. Hope.

"Then we shall get you fed, my boy!" Mrs. Hope said amiably, putting her hand on his shoulder.

She was a proper middle-aged lady, with none of Mrs. Lovett's character, but Toby supposed he'd been lucky that she'd taken a liking to him. He'd expected much worse than house boy to a small-time surgeon.

Mrs. Hope hired a chaise and four to take them back to the Hopes' town home on Bridge St., across the Thames. Bridge St., Toby knew, wasn't far from the workhouse, but now that he was employed he wasn't so worried about that place. Mrs. Hope spent most of the ride telling Toby about Mr. Hope and the good things he was doing for the people of Whitechapel. Toby was silent. He tried to be as impressed as Mrs. Hope wanted him to, and he apparently convinced her with a few smiles here and there; but he just couldn't seem to care. In his mind's eye he saw his idea of Mr. Hope, a tall masked man with surgical knives in both hands. They glinted with light from an unknown source, and reminded Toby of a pair of barber's razors...


	2. II

**A/N: **Hi! I know I'm posting one chapter immediately after the first, but I figured that since the chapters are short, and the story will move relatively slowly for the first few chapters, it'd make sense to post them faster.

Either that, or I'm just impatient to show you the good part. See chapter one for disclaimer.

Don't worry, it'll pick up soon.

* * *

Mr. Hope, as it turned out, was a proper middle-aged man, portly and ruddy-faced. He shook Toby's hand vigorously and welcomed the lad into his home. The Hopes set Toby up in a small room, obviously meant for someone like him, which was adjacent to the kitchen and directly next to the cook's room. The cook was a charming Irish girl named Cate McCalmont. She happily told Toby that Mr. Hope had saved both the lives of her mother and her little brother during his birth, and she'd offered her services free of charge out of gratitude.

"Still insists on givin' me a shillin' every week, he does, though," she said. "Kindest man I ever met, and no mistake."

Over dinner, Mr. Hope explained his routine to Toby. On Thursdays, he went around all of Whitechapel to check up on everyone who'd have him, and that's when he did most of his business. He had a couple of patients whom he checked on every other day, such as Mrs. Young, who had never been quite right since the birth of her eighth son. Every now and then a runner from Whitechapel would show up and inform Mr. Hope of some emergency, and he would set off to help.

"Your main duties will be to tag along after me and give me a hand, Toby," Mr. Hope said, "but if Mrs. Hope should need you about the house when I'm not busy--"

"I'll help her any way I can, sir," said Toby with a nod. Mr. Hope grinned at him and ruffled the boy's hair.

"There's a good lad," he said warmly. "Cate! How's about some more broth here?"

Toby swirled his soup around disinterestedly. He knew he ought to perk up if he wanted to keep his place in the Hope house, but he still saw Todd in the blackness when he closed his eyes.

* * *

Surgeons, Toby soon realized, were more like all-purpose practitioners, at least those of Mr. Hope's stature. The boy had never met with a surgeon before, after all, and had only heard nasty stories about them from the workhouse. Most of Mr. Hope's visits were incredibly boring in their purpose; he'd listen to the patient's heart a bit, ask some questions about their diet, and prescribe things like napping for two hours every day.

The walks to and from the visits were what Toby actually enjoyed. Yes, he had to carry Mr. Hope's heavy satchel of materials he never used, but Mr. Hope made conversation by talking about medical things, real medical things, that he couldn't practice in Whitechapel. He explained to him about anatomy, and told about the dissections he'd done in medical school. He talked about diseases and things as well, but Toby liked hearing about anatomy. Mr. Hope had been fond of it himself in his younger days, and was happy to show the boy books and explain diagrams to him.

Weeks passed. Toby gradually began to forget about Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett, the odd "parents" they'd made replaced by the warm-hearted Hopes. Mr. Hope taught him how to read and write, and about medicine. Cate taught him how to play the fiddle. Mrs. Hope explained to him about ladies, though her lectures were often interrupted by corrections from Cate.

One Thursday morning, as Mr. Hope and Toby were preparing to go about their rounds, Cate came in with a letter.

"Just dropped off, sir," she said. "It's from Anthony."

Mrs. Hope at once dashed for it, and Mr. Hope explained to Toby that their son Anthony was a sailor, who had recently thought to settle in America with his new wife, Johanna. Toby thought the names sounded familiar, but he couldn't place them.

"Oh, Richard!" cried Mrs. Hope. "They're coming back to England! Johanna's pregnant, you see. They've been living with a friend in Boston, and they don't want to impose on them any longer. They're going to come stay with us while Anthony finds a house!"

"Isn't this exciting?" said Cate, though with less enthusiasm than her mistress. She had not been pleased to find Anthony married.

"I can't wait to meet Johanna. Anthony says she's the most beautiful girl in the world!" gushed Mrs. Hope. Cate made a sour face, but smiled when her mistress turned around. Toby snickered.

Mr. Hope glanced at his pocket watch and cough.

"Well, my dear, I'm sure you will handle all the necessary preparations with admirable thoroughness; and now, it is time Toby and I were off. We'll return before dark, most likely," he said. He gestured to Toby, who picked up Mr. Hope's medical satchel and followed him out the door.


	3. III

**A/N: **Yay! We're finally all caught up on how Toby came to be where he is, and we can actually start in on the real story. cheers Pardon the first few paragraphs, which make up the last of the little boy Toby.

Also, there's at least one name in this chapter that should help you figure out where this is going...wink

Blah blah, first chapter disclaimer.

Enjoy!

* * *

III.

Anthony and Johanna arrived four months later. Johanna was sick from their voyage, but between her parents-in-law she was soon rosy and healthy again, and gave birth a few months later to a pretty baby girl, whom they named Melody. Her birthday was March 14th, and since Mrs. Hope remembered that they'd hired Toby in March, and he didn't remember his real birthday, they decided that the 14th should be Toby's birthday too.

The following years passed in much the same way as Toby's first few weeks in the Hope house had. Anthony and Johanna soon procured a house a mere five minute's walk from his parents. He apprenticed himself to an aging wig-maker, soon taking over the business when the man died. Johanna visited Mr. and Mrs. Hope frequently, bringing along little Melody.

Mr. Hope continued to teach Toby little bits of information about being a surgeon. The boy soon developed a serious interest in the study, prompting Mr. Hope to go to his connections and instate the boy as a student of the Royal College of Surgeons when he was eighteen.

Toby grew very fond of little Melody, and she of him; during her mother's visits she would often sit on Toby's knee as he studied. On his days off, he would take her picnicing on the Lincoln's Inn Fields.

On one such day, in April 1882, Tobias (for he liked to be called Tobias now, and only Melody did not honor his request) and Melody were sprawled on their backs over a blanket, staring up at the clouds.

"I think your eyes are about the color of the sky," said Tobias with certainty.

"I don't see any blue," seven-year-old Melody replied. Tobias stuck his arm out and pointed at a small patch of blue.

"See? Just there," he said. Melody sat up and squinted at it. Tobias grinned and stood up.

"There?" she asked.

"Perhaps you'll see it better if you're closer," he said. Melody screwed up her face at him, confused, and he reached out for her. Grinning, he picked her up and sat her on his shoulders. Melody shrieked out of a combination of fear and glee, for Tobias had grown into quite the tall young man, and she was only a little girl who'd be quite flattened if she fell.

"Put me down, Toby!" she cried happily. Relenting, Tobias pulled her down and cradled her, but she shook her head at him. "_All_ the way down."

He laughed and submitted to her wish, setting the giggling girl on her feet. He heard a laugh above him, also feminine, but older than Melody, and looked up.

Before him stood a young woman of seventeen or eighteen, with white skin and dark brown hair. Her cheeks had just the right amount of rouge, and her lips were red and full, smiling at him. Her eyes were like Melody's: a clear blue, and they were fixed on his own plain brown eyes. She was escorted by a tall, older gentleman, with admirable sideburns and a fine mustache.

"A beautiful little child," the lady said. "Is she your sister?"

"Might as well be, mum," Tobias replied, smiling and putting his hand on Melody's head; the child was attempting to hide behind his long leg. "She's the granddaughter of my master, and I've known her since she was born."

"And your master? Who is he?" asked the gentleman.

"A surgeon: Mr. Richard Hope, of Bridge Street," replied Tobias, with a nod. The gentleman nodded.

"I know him. He services the folks of Whitechapel, yes? I worked there for several years before Westminster," he said, the last bit as an aside to the lady.

"That's correct, sir," said Tobias politely.

"What is _your_name, sir?" asked the lady, clearly more interested in him than in Mr. Richard Hope, surgeon of Whitechapel.

"Tobias Ragg, mum," he replied, bowing his head to her. "And this is Melody."

"Tobias Ragg," she repeated to herself. "I am Abigail Macnaghten. My escort is Inspector Frederick Abberline."

"A pleasure to meet both of you, I'm sure," Tobias said pleasantly, though it was directed only at Abigail until the last minute, when he turned to Abberline as well.

"You say you live in Bridge Street?" Abigail said.

"That's right, Miss Macnaghten," Tobias replied. She smiled at him.

"That's a respectable area," she said, looking to Inspector Abberline for agreement. He nodded. She looked back at Tobias and smiled again. He swallowed, with difficulty.

"Perhaps we shall call on you and your master," she said. "I'm sure Frederick would be delighted to rekindle the acquaintance."

"Surely," the Inspector said.

"Good," said Abigail. "Until then, Mr. Ragg. Melody," she added, winking at the child. Tobias bowed his head again and Abigail and the Inspector walked on, leaving the young man staring after them.

"She was very pretty," Melody said, with all the candor of a child.

"A real lady," Tobias agreed.


	4. IV

**A/N:** This chapter is sort of a transition chapter, really. shrug Enjoy Abigail.

Disclaimer don't own etc.

* * *

Abigail called the very next morning, though without Inspector Abberline. Cate, however, informed her that on Thursdays, for it was a Thursday, Mr. Ragg was unavailable because he helped Mr. Hope out with his calls around Whitechapel. Abigail left her card and promised to come back Saturday. Tobias was disappointed to have missed her, but looked forward to Saturday, when he might learn more about the strange Abigail Macnaghten.

When Saturday came, he put on his best jacket (which he still imagined she would think shabby, but it would have to do) and busied himself studying until she arrived. Soon enough, he heard Cate's knock on the door and he jumped up.

Abigail was sitting in the parlor waiting for him, and smiled when he entered. He went over to her and cupped her lifted hand, pressing his lips gently to her glove.

"I apologize for being unavailable Thursday," he said, sitting across from her.

"Oh, it's quite alright," she replied. "I find it very admirable that you help Mr. Hope with his duties. You are studying to be a surgeon, are you not? Why shouldn't you get practical experience, in any case."

Tobias smiled to hide his surprise at how much she knew, and nodded. Abigail seemed to recognize his astonishment and smiled triumphantly to herself.

"Mr. Hope graciously spoke with a number of colleagues, and I was admitted to the Royal College of Surgeons," Tobias confirmed. "It's really just a nominative thing, though. I've been assisting him since I was twelve, and I suppose I've learned all I need to take his place."

"You mean to take his place, then?" Abigail asked.

"Well, poor Mr. Hope ought to retire soon; he's not as robust as he used to be," Tobias said gravely. "And, if you'll pardon me saying it, miss, I don't know of any other surgeons what'll do what he does in Whitechapel."

"No, you're quite right there," Abigail said thoughtfully.

They sat in silence for a few moments, while Tobias tried desperately to think of something to say.

"You have no intention of going farther than Whitechapel with your education?" Abigail asked. Tobias looked up, surprised at the question.

"Why...no, miss. I've not known much farther than where I've been," Tobias said.

"And where was that?" the girl asked, almost earnestly. Tobias swallowed, not meeting her eyes; he felt a hand on his knee and looked up to see Abigail leaning towards him, one gloved hand resting on his leg. Her eyes were intent upon him.

"Don't be ashamed, Tobias," she said quietly. "Your origins cannot make me think any less of you."

He believed her, though he hadn't the slightest idea why she was so interested. He patted her hand and nodded, anxious for her to remove it; to his relief, she did, and pulled back.

"I was born in a workhouse down off Union Street," he said slowly. Abigail nodded, releasing her breath slowly. "Lived around Fleet Street for a bit after that...and now I'm here," he finished, hoping she wouldn't ask about his time on Fleet Street. Her eyes flashed as he mentioned it, but she didn't refer to it.

"Thank you," she said. She looked up at him. "I don't suppose you remember a man called Mr. Sweeney Todd, do you?"

Tobias's features grew stony almost immediately and he looked away.

"He rented the room above the pie shop where I worked ages ago," he said flatly. "That's all I know."

"But he existed?"

"Well...yes," Tobias said, looking at her now, surprised. "But it was nearly eight years ago, Miss Abigail. I haven't heard nothing of him since, and I count myself lucky for it."

"The stories were true, then? The man was a demon?" Abigail asked. Tobias gave a start, and Abigail smiled sheepishly. "I was just a little girl back then, but we heard stories...about how Sweeney Todd, the demon barber, would slit a man's throat and then Mrs. Lovett would put him into a meat pie and serve him to her neighbors."

Tobias was a marble statue.

"I doubt such a thing would be of much interest to a lady like yourself," he said quietly.

"I fancy myself interested in strange legends," Abigail replied off-handedly, satisfied for the moment. "It's certainly a legend now, since half of Fleet Street burned down, including the pie shop where it was supposed to have happened, around eight years ago."

Tobias remembered. He'd set the fire.

* * *

Abigail called several more times after that, though they never again spoke of Mr. Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street. As Tobias threw himself into his studies, they saw each other less and less frequently, but neither went very long without thinking of the other.

Tobias concluded his studies at the Royal College within the next few years. Mr. Hope died in the summer of 1887, and Tobias, at twenty-four years old, took over for him as Whitechapel's surgeon. Melody, now twelve, wanted to help him, but he told her that a surgeon's work was much too boring for a darling like her. He made her little brother Benjamin his helper instead.

Mrs. Hope insisted that he stay with her in Bridge Street. "After all," she said, "all the Whitechapel folks know their surgeon can be found here already. And I do love you like a son, my boy. I couldn't bear it if you left me too."

So, Tobias stayed.


	5. V

**A/N: **I like this chapter. I hope you will too.

I wish I had the time and motivation to really develop this story and write something fantastic...but at the moment, I'm content with putting my ideas out there. Maybe some day later on I'll come back and embellish it a bit.

Thanks to the people who have reviewed so far! I know it's kind of boring at the moment.

* * *

_May, 1888_

"Mr. Ragg, sir; there's an invitation here for you."

"Thank you, Cate," Tobias said. She handed it to him and curtsied, scurrying back into the kitchen.

"Who's it from, my dear?" wheezed Mrs. Hope as Tobias joined her at the breakfast table. He popped the seal and pulled it out.

"It's from Abigail Macnaghten," he said in wonderment, furrowing his brow at it. She was having a dinner party that Saturday night in honor of her twenty-fourth birthday, and she wanted him there. There was a note at the bottom, which read: "My birthday's actually Thursday, but I don't want you weary from your surgeon's duties."

"Well then! That's pleasant," Mrs. Hope said distractedly. "I'm surprised she's not married yet, though."

Tobias looked up.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Well, she is the daughter of Eliot Macnaghten, you know. Oh, you're too young; he was Chairman of the East India Company, until they dissolved it not thirty years ago," Mrs. Hope said. "Still quite wealthy. Youngest son, Melville, just made Chief Constable. You'd think, now, that with connections like that she'd be married by twenty-four."

"And with a house on Regent Street," Tobias mused. Regent Street was on Hanover Square, and a hop, skip and a jump from Buckingham Palace. Mrs. Hope nodded.

"I've always heard tell that she was a headstrong creature, though, and with fifteen siblings ahead of her...I suppose it's not unheard of that she'd be overlooked," the old woman wheezed. "Reads too much to be a good wife at any rate, that's what I've heard."

"Indeed," Tobias said, not really listening. Cate brought out a plate of toast and he chewed on one aimlessly, staring at the invitation.

* * *

His years at the Surgeon's College had taught Tobias professionalism. He had learned to carry himself with understated, but still understood, confidence. He had always been a reserved lad, but now, rather than earning him negative remarks, it was commented on as quite a respectable quality by those who met him. He was intelligent, and though he didn't speak much, he always meant what he said. 

He had become an attractive man too; tall and no longer gangly...on the contrary, he seemed to have a strange degree of control over his movements, particularly his hands. His hair was long and dark, with a slight curl at the ends of it; this he kept tied back at the base of his neck with a dark blue ribbon, given to him by Melody. His ears were no longer too large for him, and his dark eyes were quiet and thoughtful. Many young daughters of Whitechapel were very enamored with him, and would sometimes feign illnesses to get him to come tend to them. He always knew when they were feigning, but he always came anyway.

He was, in short, a passive and taciturn sort of fellow who was rarely rattled by anything, be it disgusting boils or wailing children.

Tobias, however, found himself quite nervous as he stood at the door of Abigail Macnaghten's town home on Regent Street. He hadn't seen more than a passing glimpse of her on Lincoln's Inn Fields for years now, but the memory of her dark hair and red lips plagued him still. He had never before met her in the company of her friends and relations, who were certainly a more glamorous folk than he had ever seen. He was petrified.

"Alright there, lad?"

Tobias looked to his left and recognized Inspector Abberline, who was looking at him with concern.

"Yes sir," Tobias replied, his once shrill voice now a smooth baritone. "Just..."

"Apprehensive?" asked the inspector, raising an eyebrow. Tobias hesitated, then nodded. Abberline chuckled.

"And rightly so," the older man said. "I know where you stand, Ragg. When I left Whitechapel for Westminster, I was afraid of how these people would look at me. But they're all bark and no bite; show them, politely, that you can bark just as loudly, and bite as well...then they'll leave you well enough alone."

"Much appreciated, sir," Tobias said, smiling. Abberline nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come. I daresay the young woman is anxious to see you," he said. Tobias opened his mouth to ask what the inspector meant, but before he could Abberline proceeded to the door and knocked. He whispered something to the doorman and gestured to Tobias, who immediately went up the stairs and followed him into the house.

The doorman announced them to the party in the parlor, and they bowed as Abigail stood to greet them.

"Frederick," she said, curtsying to him first. The inspector stepped forward and kissed her hand, smiling. "A pleasure as always."

"Unequal, as ever, to mine," replied Abberline, and with a wink he walked off to greet someone else. Abigail, meanwhile turned to Tobias.

"Tobias," she said, glowing. "I'm so glad you came."

"I wouldn't have missed it, Abigail," Tobias said, kissing her hand as Abberline had done. She wore no glove in her own home, and her fingers were warm. His lips lingered on her knuckles. His eyes found hers immediately as he straightened again.

"My," she said, grinning with pleasure. "Where is the nervous boy I met on Lincoln's Fields so many years ago?"

"He's still there, rummaging about in the grass trying to find his heart," Tobias replied immediately, surprising himself with his boldness. Abigail made no response; she simply smiled knowingly at him. He offered her his arm, and she slipped hers through it, and they walked back into the room together.

He was introduced to a number of important people, among them Abigail's older brother, Chief Constable Melville Macnaghten. They were all quite impressed with the young man's presence, and though they all knew he'd come from a workhouse on Union Street they simply remarked that it was lucky he'd been found by someone as worthwhile as the late Mr. Hope, and that he'd done quite well at the Royal College.

After dinner, and as the night was winding down, Abigail stood up.

"Mr. Ragg, I wonder if you wouldn't consult me on a certain matter," she said, gesturing to him. She smiled at her other guests as he stood also. "It will only take a moment, I'm sure. Now." She slipped her arm through Tobias's once more and led him from the room towards her kitchens. As they left, she said, "You see, I found a kitten yesterday, wandering alone in Grosvenor Square, and I've quite fallen in love with it. However, it seems to have an injured leg..."

She trailed off as they left the hearing range of her slightly drunk guests and stopped, turning to Tobias. They stood alone in a long hall, which was quite bare; not even a portrait hung on the wall to break the repeating pattern of the striped wallpaper and paneling.

"I ought to get you a walking stick," she said. "You're developing quite the country surgeon's limp, carrying that heavy satchel on the same side all the time."

"Benjamin is too small to carry it," Tobias said in answer.

"What does he do, then?" asked Abigail with a small smile. Tobias smiled in return.

"He sits, and watches, and takes notes on occasion," he said.

"And glories in being called your assistant?"

"You'd have to ask him, miss," Tobias said passively. "There's hardly glory in what I do."

"There's plenty of it, my dear," Abigail said, reaching up and putting her warm hands on his cold cheeks. "Why, you're quite frozen. Is there no lifeblood in your veins?"

"It's all in my chest, drowning my heart," Tobias said. He took one of her hands gently from his cheek and placed it inside his jacket, where she could feel his thudding heartbeat.

"It seems the nervous boy found his heart," she said after a moment, her eyes glittering in the half-light.

"It was simple, really," Tobias said. "It is wherever you are."

A pause.

"My brother spends his Saturday nights with Inspector Abberline and a number of other gentlemen at a tavern in Cheapside," said Abigail, her voice huskier than it had been a moment before. "Say you will stay with me tonight. Say it, I beg you."

"Say it and fulfill it," Tobias replied, his lips against her forehead. "I will stay with you tonight, Abigail."


	6. VI

**A/N: **Alright, kids. This chapter has an itty bitty racy moment. It's safely on the tame side, however; no lemons here. If that's what you like, then I'm the wrong author for you. It's embarrassing to write scenes like that, seriously! My cheeks got red with _this_!

But anyway. This chapter will also remind you that this is a Sweeney Todd fic.

Enjoy!

* * *

Tobias had seen a drawing, once, of the unclothed female figure. There had been an autopsy done on a female cadaver at the school as well, but he had been a younger student at the time and not permitted to see it.

Both he was sure failed to give any impression of the real thing.

It had started with a kiss. Abigail's servants had made themselves scarce after her last guests left, and she had led Tobias up to her room. He had kissed her hand, looked up; immediately after, their mouths had found each other and there was no separating them. Their hands grabbed furiously, clutching and tugging at stuffy Victorian clothing that just refused to yield.

Finally, they had come up for air, not taking their eyes off each other as they raced to get their clothes off. Tobias was first, and he spun Abigail around. With the deft fingers of a surgeon, he undid the small buttons going down the back of her dress, tugged free the laces of her corset, and her body was free. She started to turn around, but he stopped her, in awe of what was before him. He squatted to the ground, peering closely at her calves, running his hands over them. He allowed his fingers to trail her skin as he rose slowly. His hands passed over her thighs, over the minimal swell of her buttocks. He traced her spine, feeling her shiver with excitement rather than cold.

His fingers brushed her neck—and he remembered the chill of the silver handle in his hand as he picked up the cursed razor. Sweeney had lifted his head but given no cry; looking back on it now, Tobias was sure that Todd had been prepared to die, had welcomed it. He found himself scowling. By welcoming his death, Todd had taken away Tobias's victory.

Abigail's neck was slender and white. Tobias's hands lingered there, and when they finally moved on, his mouth took their place, hovering over the skin and planting soft kiss after soft kiss.

"Tobias," Abigail breathed hungrily, writhing.

"Shh," he said softly, his hands moving again, down her arms and up again, across her chest.

With a moan, Abigail turned around and captured Tobias's mouth in a kiss. Her arms wound tightly around him, pulling him so close to her he found it difficult to breathe. She pulled away, but only for a moment, crawling onto her bed and dragging him with her.

"I've waited for you, Tobias," she said huskily, while Tobias kissed her neck and chest. "Oh, all these years, the husbands I could have had. Thank God I am at leisure to turn them all down, for you're the only one I wanted."

"Why?" rasped Tobias, pushing himself up and looking at her icy blue eyes.

Abigail smiled and made no response. Instead, she reached under the sheets.

* * *

_Not tonight, I beg you._

Tobias's eyes snapped open, as they always did when he caught the first dream glimpses of Sweeney Todd. It was a routine by now, perfected by over a decade of nightmares; he'd wake up, and stay awake until he was too exhausted to dream when he closed his eyes again. He was laying on his back, looking up at Abigail's canopy. Her hand rested on his bare chest, and he turned his head to look at her. He could see no more than her silhouette in the dim light coming from the nearly spent candle, but it was enough. He smiled to himself.

He let his guard down, though, and fell to sleep again.

_"Yes, I lied, cause I love you! I'd be twice the wife she was, I love you! Could that thing have cared for you like me?"_

_"Mrs. Lovett, you're a bloody wonder, eminently practical and yet appropriate as always. As you've said repeatedly, there's little point in dwelling on the past. Now, come here, my love."_

_"Do you mean it?"_

_"Nothing to fear, my love."_

_"Everything I did I swear I thought was only for the best. Believe me!"_

_"What's dead is dead."_

_"Can we still be married?"_

_The furnace...she'd left the furnace open. She was gone, she was dead. The razor was on the stones in front of him. Sweeney exposed his throat, waiting, welcoming—_

_But not this time! He spun, quicker than Hell, and pulled out another razor. He started laughing; a half-charred Mrs. Lovett pushed the furnace door open and climbed out, laughing just like Sweeney Todd, like it was some merry old joke! _

_"Nothing's gonna harm you," sang Mrs. Lovett. "Not while I'm around!" She started laughing again. Toby dropped the razor and covered his ears. _

_"Mischief, mischief," sang Lucy, getting off the ground. "Poor thing, poor thing."_

_"Pretty women, pretty women!" sang Judge Turpin behind him. _

_"Ladies, my lord, are weak!" The Beadle now rose too. _

_They were closing in on him, Todd and the corpses he commanded. _

_"No, you're dead, you're dead, you're all dead!"_

_"They may be dead, my boy," said Sweeney, grinning. "But you haven't killed me yet." _

_"How 'bout a pie, my love?" said Mrs. Lovett, ashes falling from her cheeks. "What's to your taste? Priest? Grocer? Actor? We have them all, my love! 'There, you'll sample Mrs. Lovett's meat pies, savory and sweet pies'..." _

_The cackling was too much. _

_"No! I killed you! I killed you, Todd, I slit your throat!" Toby shrieked._

_"I think you've got it backwards, lad," Sweeney said. "For I'm about to slit yours!" _

_Dead hands fastened themselves to Toby's arms, holding him fast. Mrs. Lovett pushed his hair off his face, humming softly. Her fingers left soot marks on his brow; he saw them in the silver of the razor as Sweeney raised it high above his head—_

"No!" Tobias choked, sitting up. His hands went to his throat to stop the bleeding, but his neck was uninjured, dampened only by his own perspiration. Abigail was up instantly, going to her washbasin. He heard the sloshing of water and soon felt a cool cloth against his forehead, his cheeks, his neck.

"There now, my sweet," Abigail said, her voice low and smooth. "It's alright. He's gone, love, he's dead. Nothing but cinders under Fleet Street."

Tobias didn't ask how she knew what he'd dreamed about. She knew his past, after all, and she was no fool. He caught her hand against his heaving chest and turned his head towards her. She kissed his forehead and ran her fingers through his hair until he calmed down enough to lay down once more.


	7. VII

**A/N:** We're very close now, my ducks, to the object of this story, and it is in this that we get our first taste of the action!

Thank you again to the reviewers! You're giving me the motivation to actually finish this thing. Onward!

* * *

Tobias kissed Abigail on the cheek as he shrugged on his lightest jacket. It was Thursday morning, the first in August that year.

"My regards to Mrs. Young," Abigail said, smiling at him as she smoothed his already pristine lapel. Tobias grinned at her and kissed her again, on the mouth this time.

"Mr. Ragg!" she said in feigned shock. "Forward, aren't you?"

"No less forward than you, Mrs. Ragg," Tobias replied cheekily. She grinned and pushed him.

"Go on, out with you," she said. Tobias put his hat on and obeyed her, bidding goodbye to Cate and exiting the house.

It was exceedingly hot, considering it was not yet eight o'clock; the air was still, and Tobias soon loosened his collar. He looked up at the grey English sky; it was going to rain later. He picked up his pace; he'd rather exert himself and get his rounds finished before the rain, then come back sopping and get lectured by Cate _and_ his wife.

_His wife_. The words brought a smile to his face. He and Abigail had publicly courted for barely a month before they announced their engagement. Two weeks had passed since their wedding, but the two were still giddy as children.

Abigail had moved into Bridge Street, since Tobias was unwilling to leave Mrs. Hope and Cate; in seeing her adapt to their simple lifestyle, he'd realized just how glamorous she was naturally. Even in their modest parlor, she shined. Her very presence gave an air of gentility to their rooms, and her friends from Hanover Square had commented on the quaint furnishings and the cozy atmosphere with pleasure when they called.

Last Thursday, Abigail had walked Whitechapel with him on his rounds, greeting and being introduced to his patients. The sight had filled Tobias with joy, and he felt that he could now completely forget the darkness that had plagued his dreams for years. Indeed, last night he had not had a nightmare, for the first time since he was a small boy.

He was pleased to find that all his patients were doing well, and he'd finished his rounds by mid-afternoon. He left the house of Mrs. Young with her family's urgings to hurry home before the rain started. After assuring them that he would make haste, he put his hat on and stepped out into the street.

It was darker than it should have been at three o'clock, thanks to the cloud cover, but Tobias knew Whitechapel like the back of his hand, after traversing the whole of it every week for thirteen years. Day or night made no difference to him.

He was nearly back into the City when a voice called to him from an alley.

"Save a penny for the surgeon, they tells us. But will the surgeon save a penny for us?"

"Are you alright, miss?" Tobias responded, taking off his hat and peering into the shadowy alley. He saw the outline of a woman and took a few steps closer; she did the same, and soon he saw her. She was older than he was, and not at all pretty; her dress was in a dismal state, but some of the damage was obviously intentional: a ripped bodice, for example.

"I feel sick, surgeon," she crooned, her expression making it clear that she was not at all unwell. "Come here and make me feel better."

"I'll not have my station mocked, ma'am," Tobias said neutrally. "Please, if you are truly ill, let me know at once. If you are not, I should prefer it if you'd let me go about my business."

"What's this?" said another voice, a male voice, coming up behind the woman. "Is my girl not good enough for you, surgeon?"

"You mistake my meaning, sir," Tobias replied, keeping his voice even. His grip tightened on the handle of his satchel. He wished he had taken Johanna Hope's advice, and bought a pistol to carry during his rounds; she showed herself to be of greater cleverness than he, by realizing that not everyone in Whitechapel could be trusted.

"No, you mistake me," said the man. In his peripheral vision, Tobias saw two more men approach him. "Now; you're gonna 'elp this poor sick darlin' out, or it's you'll be needin' a surgeon. You understand me?"

"Perfectly; but I maintain my right to refuse," Tobias said, his voice hard now. The man chuckled.

"Then you're not really getting it, are you?" he said. He laughed and turned to the woman, nuzzling her neck.

Tobias furrowed his brow and started to turn around when something collided with the back of his head. A tremor went through his body, from his neck to his feet, and his twitching fingers released the handle of his bag and the brim of his hat. A club connected with his abdomen and the surgeon doubled over, half from pain and half from a reflex to defend his internal organs. He spun and backed up to a wall. His head swam and his eyelids grew heavy, but he forced them to stay open.

The men—there were three of them now—pinned Tobias's shoulders to the wall and wrenched his arms away from his gut, leaving him completely exposed. A fist flew into his field of vision and connected with his jaw; Tobias bit his tongue and felt blood fill his mouth.

The edges of his vision were darkening. Objects were blurry. He saw the outlines of the man attacking him; he could no longer see the men holding him against the wall. His right shin burned as he felt his tibia snap. Another blow to his abdomen; he felt a few ribs crack and shifted position, trying to keep them from puncturing his lung.

They were hitting him everywhere, pounding his chest, kicking his legs; his arms were going numb from the vice-like grip they had on his upper arms. His head throbbed violently, and he was positive he had a concussion. Were they ever going to stop? Were they going to kill him?

He heard a gunshot, though it sounded muffled to him. His arms were released and he fell to his knees. Someone was shouting, a man with a deep, deep voice. The whore shrieked and he saw the shapes, which could have been feet and legs, running past him. Another gunshot.

Someone had him by the shoulders and flipped him over onto his back. Tobias blinked furiously at the shape that hovered over him.

"Tobias! Tobias, lad, stay awake now!" cried a voice. His hearing was less muffled, which Tobias took as a good thing.

"Sit me up," he choked out, coughing up a bit of blood. Whoever held him obeyed, angling his torso up. Tobias winced.

"Abberline!" said the man who held Tobias; he recognized the voice now as belonging to Anthony Hope.

"They've gone," said the voice of Inspector Abberline. He was breathing heavily. "I am not so fast as I once was."

"Who were they?" asked Anthony.

"A gang of pimps," Abberline replied, contempt clear in his voice. He laughed darkly. "I'd had them all arrested in my day, but it seems since I left they have flourished." A pause. "Well, come on then. Let's get him in the carriage."

* * *

"Shh! He's awake now."

Tobias's eyes fluttered open and he looked around. He was in his bedroom. His hair felt damp, and he could feel bandages on his torso. The wood of a splint was against his right shin.

"The surgeon's been here," he said.

"Yes," replied Abigail, looking down at him with eyes that shined with tears. "Oh, my darling," she breathed, laying her hands gently on his bare shoulder.

"How did you know to come?" Tobias asked, seeing Abberline standing by the door. Johanna and Anthony were also in the room, he saw, standing with Melody and Benjamin.

"One of Mrs. Young's sons," said Abberline. "I was here calling on Abigail when he burst in, crying that McQueen had you."

"Not five minutes later he was at my door, at the head of a carriage, bellowing at me to make haste," Anthony said. "And rightly so; I feared that even when we got there you would die."

"He has a tougher constitution than that, Mr. Hope," Abigail said fondly.

"Now, I'm sure you know what was prescribed?" said Abberline, with a small smile. Tobias returned it and chuckled, though it was brief and he moved a hand to his sore chest.

"Of course. Plenty of rest; that's all that can be done," he said. "But my rounds, my patients—"

"Mr. Kelser, the surgeon who saw to you, has assured me that he will make sure no one in Whitechapel dies during your recuperation," said Abberline, openly smiling now.

"Ah, I shall owe him a great deal," Tobias said, relaxing.

"He also told us that it was his pleasure, and that you owe him nothing," the inspector replied.

"And the boy?"

"I've told Michael Young that as soon as you're well enough, he and his family may expect an invitation from us to a fine dinner, with our gratitude," Abigail said with a smile. Tobias smiled back at her. His head still throbbed, but the pain was more dull now, exceedingly tolerable. Though it had been many years since he'd been ill-used, he still had the high tolerance for pain he'd developed as a workhouse boy.

Tobias reached up and Abberline walked to his side. The two men clasped hands.

"Thank you, Frederick," Tobias said. Abberline placed his free hand over their joined ones and kissed it.

"Think nothing of it, my dear boy," the inspector said. He smiled down at Tobias before releasing his hand and rising to face the other occupants of the room.

"I think it's time we let the boy fulfill his prescription, don't you?" he said.


	8. VIII

**A/N: **Turning point! That's right, dear readers. This is the chapter wherein the trouble starts.

Reviewers are the nicest people in the world. I love them all. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Tobias spent much of the next week sleeping, or on the edge of sleep. He had nothing but his thoughts to occupy him during this time, since Abigail left him well enough alone, sleeping in a guest bedroom and reading silently by his bedside when she did come in.

The first few days, Tobias was overwhelmed by his gratitude. He had come close to death, and was still alive, thanks to the love and efforts of his friends. It was more compassion than he'd ever known since he'd become aware of Mrs. Lovett's betrayal. _She_ may have cared for him a little, but her love for Mr. Todd had far eclipsed any compassion she had for the small boy; she had been willing to lock the child in her bakehouse to keep Todd happy! He knew that no matter what they said, he would always be indebted to Abberline, Anthony...Mrs. Young and her family, even Mr. Kelser, his brother in the profession.

These worthy thoughts, however, were soon worn out. What replaced them was anger. Tobias, after all, offered health care to people like McQueen and his whores for prices most other surgeons would laugh at! How they dared to take him for granted as they had—it baffled the young man. What if she had actually been ill, and Tobias hadn't been there at all? What if McQueen himself fell ill, and no surgeon would come into Whitechapel to help him? Tobias was a godsend to the people of Whitechapel! They could, at the very least, be grateful that he acknowledged their existence!

A voice in the back of his mind tried to remind him that for every McQueen, there were ten Mrs. Youngs, kissing his hand and thanking him a thousand times over; but he kept thinking of McQueen's leering face, the contempt in his voice at the word "surgeon."

Tobias hid these feelings from Abigail, afraid of what she'd say, even though Mrs. Lovett's words, remembered so well after dreaming them so often, haunted him: "yes, I lied, cause I love you." _I'm not like her,_ he told himself. _This is different_. He knew Abigail would love him, even if his thoughts were so unhappily occupied.

He soon took to pacing around his room, since Abigail refused to allow him down the stairs. Abberline brought him a gift, when he heard that Tobias had started moving about: a cane, tall and made of oak. Tobias was grateful for it; his broken leg was the same one that he'd been limping on for months, thanks to his heavy bag. He knew now that it would be a permanent limp.

As soon as Tobias could get down the stairs, Abigail sent her invitation to the Youngs, and the very next night Abigail, Tobias, Cate, Mrs. Hope, and the Youngs (all ten of them) feasted.

* * *

_Silver razors glinted in the night. _

Toby sat straight up and immediately winced, clutching his side. Cracked ribs were painful and slow to heal, but it was one of the last of his complaints. Though his physical ailments had lessened, however, it seemed a mental one was ready to return.

Abigail had yet to return to their shared bedroom, for fear of kicking his leg in her sleep. Her side of the bed was cold and Tobias felt wholly and utterly alone, though he knew that his wife was at the end of the hall.

He looked around the room, which was lit by a small oil lamp left burning by Cate at Abigail's request. In the dim, flickering light, every shadow looked menacing. Trembling slightly, Tobias grabbed his cane and rose out of bed.

It was foolish, he knew that; but he knew he wouldn't be able to rest until he had satisfied himself that everything in his room was perfectly normal and not out to kill him. He walked around the edges of the room once, twice, poking things with his cane. Satisfied at last, he turned to climb back into bed—

And there he stood.

The demon barber of Fleet Street.

Tobias would have known him anywhere; the thin, skeletal frame, the white skin, the matted black hair...but the single most identifying trait was those burning, insane eyes, and the glinting silver razor.

Todd stood between Tobias and his bed, whistling and twirling a folded razor absentmindedly. _This can't be real_, Tobias thought, clutching his chest. _I'm awake. I'm _awake!_Or am I just...dreaming that I'm awake? Am I going mad?_

"None of the above, Toby," said Sweeney, smirking.

"What are you doing here? You're dead," Tobias said, standing up straight. He was taller than Sweeney, he realized; and though he was still terrified of the man, that small fact gave him the tiniest bit of courage.

"I'm here because you need my help," Todd replied, taking a few steps closer. Tobias tightened his grip on the handle of his cane.

Todd noticed. His demeanor changed instantly. The mockery was gone, replaced by rage as he flicked open the razor. In one swift motion, the apparition was right in front of Tobias, the razor pressed against his neck.

"Do you want to end up like me, Tobias?" hissed Sweeney Todd. He was very close, his breath hot and rancid, like a decomposing corpse. Tobias staggered backwards, coughing. His broken leg caught on one of Abigail's hat boxes, one that Tobias himself had just knocked over when conducting his search of the room. He gave a cry of pain and went to his knees, leaning on his cane.

Todd came forward and stood over him.

"Vengeance is growing in your mind, boy, and I know all about vengeance," Sweeney said, the anger out of his voice, replaced by the mockery of a paternal air.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tobias said resolutely, though he did.

"Mr. McQueen, my boy, Mr. McQueen," Sweeney said, kneeling and looking Tobias in the eye. Tobias tried to look away, but Sweeney caught his chin and brought his gaze back. His hands were like ice.

"He did you a wrong, Toby," the demon barber said mournfully. "He hurt you for no reason, save that he wanted to." The corpse's lip curled, as though remembering some wrong of his own.

"What would you have me do, then?" Tobias said angrily. "Kill him? I'm not like you, Todd!"

"Not yet," Sweeney said harshly. He glared into Tobias's dark eyes. "But you can't stop thinking about it, can you? About how _ungrateful_ McQueen and his minions are, how they mocked you, who only wanted to help them. That's where it all begins, boy. Dwelling on your wrongs. You keep it up, you'll become a twisted old madman like me."

Tobias tried to shake his head, but Sweeney's grip was firm. His hands trembled, unable to get purchase around the oak cane. Any courage his size had given him was gone now, with Todd so close, his breath infecting the air, his gravely voice echoing in the young man's ears.

"W-what can I do?" he whimpered.

"Take your revenge now," Sweeney said in a low voice, letting go of Tobias's chin. "Strike now, and move on with your life." He stood and walked away. Tobias rose shakily, leaning heavily on his cane, and stumbled to the bed.

"Oh, and one more bit of advice," the demon barber said, silhouetted now in the doorway. "Killing McQueen will be too obvious."

Tobias's eyes snapped open. His brow was damp with a cold sweat.


	9. IX

**A/N: **Bit of a short chapter for you here, loves, but it'll shed some light on what's going through Tobias's mind through all this business.

Thanks, as always, to my lovely reviewers. You guys are so clever!

Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

"Are you alright, Tobias?"

Tobias didn't respond. It was almost as though he hadn't heard his wife speak. He continued to limp past her, back and forth and back and forth again, pacing through their sitting room. His brow was furrowed, his eyes fixed on an unmoving point, though Abigail couldn't have said what exactly he was looking at; nor even could Tobias, if he should be asked. Abigail, who had been occupied with needlepoint, now put it down. She stood and placed herself in her husband's path, finally forcing him to acknowledge her.

"_Tobias_," Abigail pleaded when he stopped in front of her. She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed gingerly. "Please, tell me what's bothering you."

Tobias hesitated.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing's bothering me."

"Tobias, you're more agitated than a flock of pigeons; you, who has always been so calm," Abigail snapped, glaring at him now. "Do not presume to lie to me."

"I presume nothing," Tobias replied shortly, turning from her and pacing again. She followed him and caught his hand.

"Love, wait," she said, her voice soft again. "I just want to help you. It breaks my heart, seeing you upset and not being able to help."

Tobias sighed and turned to face her, leaning, resting his forehead against hers. He extracted his hand from hers and tangled it in her dark, dark hair.

Could he tell her? He wanted to, in that moment. She would understand. She would help him realize that it was just a residual nightmare. She fancied herself an expert, after all, in strange legends, and would no doubt cite some example of such night terrors plaguing the victims of demons like Todd. Abigail would make everything logical and real again, and he could forget...

He could forget that Todd's face leered at him out of every shadow. His skin was generally colder than normal, but despite that he still felt the even colder steel against his neck. His nostrils were still infected with Todd's corpse breath. How could it have been a delusion? Tobias did not specialize in mental disorders, but he had never heard tell of so lasting and real a hallucination as this. A man of science as he was, he felt caught up in the superstition and it would not release him.

In truth, he had thought of nothing but Sweeney's advice since "awakening" from the horrid dream. At first, he had cursed it, and the demon for suggesting it. He, Tobias, could never do something like that, after all. Tobias was a good man, a surgeon who helped people! He didn't hurt them; he could never hurt them.

But a small, gravely voice had whispered in his ear. McQueen no longer deserved his help. He couldn't help those who wouldn't have it, after all, couldn't help those who didn't appreciate it. Why should he? He loved what he did for Mrs. Young and others like her. But McQueen...McQueen, who taunted and mocked him. There was little room in the world for men like McQueen.

Almost against his will, Tobias had contemplated with care Sweeney's second bit of advice: that killing McQueen would be too obvious. Tobias agreed. It was already known that McQueen had ordered Tobias's injuries. While few would expect a retaliation from the good-hearted surgeon, those who didn't know him may connect the dots, and conduct an investigation that would lead to his discovery and arrest.

How to get around it, then? To his great horror, Tobias had begun to formulate ways to hurt McQueen without hurting him, and without drawing attention to himself. He had thought about killing the actual brutes who had injured him, but aside from being more obvious than McQueen, Tobias didn't know how he'd find the men: they had looked, in the overcast, like any other hardworking Whitechapel man.

It had come to him after much thought. McQueen had mocked his profession. Tobias had then determined that the best way to retaliate would be to undermine McQueen's "profession", and strike him where his money was...

...the whores.

It made perfect sense, really. McQueen felt important because of the whores he lorded over. Without them, he would lose both his income...and his self-importance. Tobias expected that after one or two prostitutes died many of the others would stand up to McQueen and refuse to go out, for the sake of their lives.

Of course, it was all hypothetical. Tobias had no intention, had not even the capability, of such an enterprise.

He looked up into a mirror, which reflected the dark hallway. Sweeney's face stared back out at him, grinning madly and nodding. Tobias swallowed and looked down at Abigail, who returned his gaze earnestly, begging him to share with her.

He closed his eyes and turned away. The twenty-five year old man made his slow, painful way up the stairs to his room, leaving Abigail standing alone in the sitting room, watching him go.


	10. X

**A/N:** Okay, first, because I'm a strange person, I have to address the issue of medicine that arises for the briefest, insignificant moment in this chapter. Tobias prescribes aspirin for a woman with a headache; while they had aspirin as a compound, and were using it for medicinal purposes, the name "aspirin" wasn't coined until the end of the century. I just didn't want to put the scientific name down, and couldn't figure out what it might have been called.

Moving on...enjoy, you clever darling reviewers. I'm sure this chapter will make a lot of you feel very smart!

* * *

August 31, 1888  
Buck's Row

It was midnight. Tobias had received a runner at eleven o'clock in the evening; a boy who had weepingly told the surgeon that his mother was dying. Tobias had of course leaped out of bed, in so far as much as the decidedly weaker man was able to leap. It had been almost a month since the attack on him, but his limp was, as predicted, worse, and he had found that his stamina was no longer as great. He became winded much quicker than before. Under the circumstances, then, he would have ordered a carriage, but the poor boy who summoned him was so upset that Tobias hadn't the heart to make him wait before they set off, nevermind that once they got the carriage it would have been faster.

Upon reaching the boy's house, Tobias discovered that his mother simply had a very bad migraine. For this, Tobias gave her several doses of aspirin and departed, saying he would check on her again the next day.

Tobias hung around in Whitechapel, though, feeling somehow that it was not time to leave. He strolled around for a bit and ended up near London Hospital. He came into a small back street, and there he stayed.

He had not been there five minutes when he heard footsteps. He looked up and saw, at the end of the street, the silhouette of a woman. He bent down slowly and popped open his bag, reaching in. His long scalpel practically jumped into his hand, but he released it as the woman drew near, straightening up again.

"You look like you're waitin' for summit," said the woman in a thick accent as she came even. She stood close to him, and he could smell alcohol on her breath. He could not see her face, but that was all for the better.

"I may be," he said quietly, reaching up and tracing the line of her neck. She cooed and stepped closer, eliminating the space between them completely. Tobias released his cane and leaned against the wall, putting both hands on her neck now as he softly kissed her cheek.

"Mmm, I'm not cheap, mind you," she said, laughing. "But I promise you, it'll be the mos' fulfillin' night you've ever had."

"I do not doubt that," Tobias said, just as softly. His thumbs and forefingers came together around her neck; they slowly began to overlap as his hands closed. The whore was distracted; Tobias was nuzzling her earlobe; but soon her air became restricted.

"What you doin'?" she choked out. Tobias made no response, only continued to squeeze. His leg may have been lame, his torso damaged, but his arms were as strong as ever, and his hands as vice-like.

He stared off into the distance, at the pinprick of light that was a distant street lamp, as she realized what he was doing and began to fight. He was immovable, though he was soon gasping like she was at the effort of holding her.

After what seemed like an eternity, she fell, listless in his grip. Tobias waited a moment before laying her flat on the ground. He knelt beside her and checked for her pulse to be sure that she was dead, and not merely unconscious. There was no pulse.

Tobias straightened up again and leaned once more against the wall, trying to catch his breath. But he refused to wait too long; if he waited, he'd begin to think about what he'd just done, and he was not equipped to think about it at that moment.

He reached into his bag and pulled out the long scalpel, hardly aware of what he was doing. He knelt, straddling the body, and put the blade against the dead flesh, still warm. His breath came in harsh gasps as he punctured the skin and drew the blade across to the other side, slowly, almost in wonderment. Blood oozed out just as slowly for a few brief moments before ceasing. Tobias watched it with his head cocked to one side.

He waited for realization and guilt to wash over him. Realization came. He had just killed a woman, a prostitute. Her blood was on his scalpel. She had been a whore; one of McQueen's, Tobias was sure. Hadn't he heard Abberline say that McQueen was the self-proclaimed ruler of the nighttime streets in Whitechapel? Yes. She had to have been one of McQueen's.

Guilt hadn't come. Instead, he felt strangely...tranquil, like some burden had been lifted from his chest.

Suddenly, Tobias tensed up. She had to be found, otherwise it would mean nothing. She would be forgotten by McQueen, and a new girl would take her place. The woman had to be found, and it had to be known that she had been murdered. But there was no guarantee that anyone would come down this road in any good time. He stood up and looked around. He had come in by the opposite end the whore had; there had been a stable down that way. She would be found there.

Tobias wiped the scalpel on the inside of the whore's dress and put it back in his bag. He then grabbed the corpse by her wrists and dragged her to the stable. Though it was not far, the going was slow, for she was not a light creature. Tobias limped violently; but soon he had her in position, just in front of the stable gate where it would be impossible to miss her.

And, without another thought to the matter, Tobias collected his cane and satchel and limped his way home.


	11. XI

**A/N: **So, as should be pretty obvious at this point, this is indeed a Toby becomes Jack the Ripper fanfic. It seemed like the only logical thing, upon the end of the movie. (Not sure if the stage production ends the same way, though, so I won't say how it ends for dear Freckles, who hasn't seen the movie.)

As always, enjoy! Cookies for all of my darling reviewers!

* * *

"Frederick, I don't know...he had an emergency last night and didn't get back until a few hours ago."

"Let him spend the day sleeping, Abigail. We need him."

"I'm coming too."

"I'm afraid I won't allow that, my pet; it's not a sight for a woman's eyes."

Tobias lay awake as they conversed outside his room. He was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling; he had been in this position since returning from his foray into Whitechapel. He knew, of course, why Frederick needed him. The inspector wanted a surgeon to examine a murder victim. Tobias almost laughed at the irony, and almost wept at his own betrayal of his friend's trust. But he could not refuse. To refuse would raise suspicion, and he could not afford to do that.

When Abberline finally knocked and entered, Tobias sat up and looked at him in the eye.

"Where?" he asked. It was already clear that he had not been asleep.

"Buck's Row," Abberline replied. "An alley within sight of London Hospital. She was found half an hour ago by a stable boy."

* * *

"Her name is Mary Ann Nichols, nicknamed Polly," Abberline continued, standing at the head of the body while Tobias knelt beside her. The surgeon's brow was knitted together, his mouth set in a hard line; his dark eyes shone dewy. Abberline put a hand on his friend's shoulder, compassion on his face.

"I know, son; to see purposeful death like this...leaves one with little hope," he said, hardly knowing the inner conflict that was the real source of Tobias's distress. He shook his head and stood, resuming his briefing.

"She was a well-known prostitute, currently staying in a lodging house. The stable boy recognized her by her clothes. She stole them from a workhouse in Lambeth," the inspector said.

"Curious," said a nearby officer. "Her throat was cut, but there's barely any blood on her."

Abberline frowned and looked at Tobias, who looked back up at him before pointing to the purplish spots on the Nichols' neck.

"She was strangled first," Tobias said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and continued. "Her throat was cut postmortem."

"Why?" asked Abberline. The surgeon shrugged, not trusting himself to speak.

"It's possible that the murderer killed her by accident, and cut her throat to make it look like someone else had done it," said a second officer. Tobias looked at him.

"But with what?" asked the young man.

"What do you mean, Tobias?" asked Abberline. Tobias stood up, wincing as he gingerly moved his lame leg.

"The cut was made by something very precise, very sharp," the surgeon said confidently. "There's hardly any tearing or snagging of the skin. He was careful about it. Someone trying to cover a mistake would likely be panicked, and make a hasty job of it."

Abberline nodded, muttering to himself as he squatted to examine the wound again.

"So," he said, almost inaudibly, "who would have possession of such a precise instrument?"

Tobias heard him.

"Plenty of tradesmen require implements that could have made that cut," he said. "Butchers, carpenters, fishermen...barbers...even surgeons," he added, raising his eyebrows at his friend as though trying to remind him of something. Abberline nodded gravely.

"Whitechapel's full of tradesmen," said the first officer, his incredulity obvious. Their suspects, by that conclusion, were numerous.

Tobias couldn't help but feel somewhat amused by, if not Abberline, then his entourage. They were all fools who were only interested in how much work they'd have to do. In Abberline, however, Tobias saw a true opponent, someone who was more than clever enough to put the pieces together if he had but one more piece of information...and was without a certain fondness for the _real_ murderer.

_What a fine line you will have to tread, Tobias,_ the young surgeon told himself. He was ashamed to realize that he felt both sadness and exhilaration at the thought of such a challenge.

"Do you see now why I needed you?" Abberline asked, standing.

"It is a strange murder," Tobias agreed.

The Inspector put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Go home, my young friend. Get some rest, or Abigail will have me murdered next," he said, smiling slightly. Tobias returned the inspector's gesture, though his face remained sober.

"You know where I am, should you need me again," he said. "Though I must hope it is only to consult more on this case, and not to review another like it."

"That is a hope we share, young Tobias," Abberline said with a sigh.


	12. XII

**A/N:** Sorry this one's a bit later than they usually are, kids--yesterday I got myself into a funk after hearing about Heath Ledger. He was one of my favorite actors; but here it is, dedicated to him in feeling even if the content is not really relevant.

Enjoy, kids! I love all ye who review. Cookies and guavas for all!

* * *

Tobias never normally bothered to open his surgeon's bag, unless he was prescribing a medicine he had with him, such as doses of aspirin, or other such things. He simply carried it with him all the time. It was what Mr. Hope had done, and it was a habit Tobias had inherited from him.

The young surgeon returned to his home from the crime scene and immediately went to his study, telling Abigail that he did not want to be disturbed. Reluctantly she obeyed his wishes, though she insisted on sending up some breakfast.

The tray sat, still untouched, on the table where Cate had left it. Tobias was sitting at his desk with his back to the door, the contents of his bag laid out before him.

There were several vials of medicine, pill bottles; syringes and needles. These he put aside. The next items were lengths of bandages, and several pairs of white surgeon's gloves. Tobias removed a bottle of brandy, which he had taken to including after the fashion of Mr. Hope, who had commented that Whitechapel folk favored it to any medical anesthetic. He kept several small jars, and a container of ethanol, though he had never had to remove and preserve something. There was a small dissecting kit, with three scalpels of various sizes and two pairs of forceps; Tobias used these for minor injuries, such as damaged fingers or for blood letting. It was from this kit that the long scalpel used to cut Polly Nichols' throat had come. It was simply wrapped in a soft cloth, and had been easy to get to.

The last thing, which Tobias had never used outside of his classes, was an amputation kit, much like the one owned by every surgeon Tobias had ever heard of. Moving everything to the side, Tobias now opened this for the first time in two years. He passed his hand over the contents; the tourniquet, the bone saws of varying size, the hooks, the nippers...and the knives.

The next killing would have to be done differently. He felt that he should not be at leisure to strangle the woman and then mutilate her. Strangling took time, and he was barely strong enough for it. He would simply have to be quick about slitting their throats.

_I ought to set up shop like Todd_, thought Tobias rather morbidly. _A little clinic where McQueen's whores may come to die_. But Todd's scheme would not work for Tobias. Whores were little inclined to see surgeons of their own free will. The surgeon looked up into a dark mirror.

"You had it easy, Sweeney," he said.

"What was that?"

Tobias whipped around, even as his side pained him, and saw Abigail standing in the doorway. It was clear that she had not heard his exact words, though she had heard him speak, and she was looking at him somewhat suspiciously. Tobias looked down. Abigail was an imposing woman; she always had been, tall and beautiful as she was. But Tobias did not fear her posture or her set mouth; it was her eyes he dared not meet. Though they could be happy and light, like a clear sky, they could also be icy and unwelcome, penetrating like the cold of a Northern wind. Tobias knew which sort of eye he would see today.

"When I am unsettled, I find that I mutter to myself," Tobias confessed. It was somewhat true, in recent times at least. "It helps me feel that I am not alone."

Abigail entered the room and touched his shoulder. Tobias, knowing that the cold would be out of her eyes now, did not hesitate to look up at her, and saw a warm summer sky in her eyes.

"Tell me, Tobias," she said. "What happened?"

"An unfortunate, murdered," he said blankly, looking away again. "A woman. Strangled first; her throat cut after her death."

"But...why?" Abigail asked, not in wonder but in irritation. "Why bother with such pointless ritual?"

Tobias looked up, his mouth agape.

"Because that's what it is," he said, incredulous. "It's a ritual."

"But what sort of ritual?" Abigail asked, looking at her husband oddly. Tobias looked at her and frowned.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But Abberline may be able to work it out."

They sat in silence for a moment. Abigail gestured at the bared contents of his satchel.

"What are you doing?"

"I use so little of what I carry that I sometimes find it necessary to take everything out and make sure it is still in good condition," Tobias said, thinking quickly. They had not been together so long that she knew all of his routines. "It also happened upon me at the scene that the killer may have used an instrument similar to what is found in these kits, if not one of these instruments themselves."

"You believe a surgeon could have done such a murder?" Abigail asked after a pause, in a low voice.

"It is possible," Tobias said.

"My Lord," his wife breathed. "The world becomes a darker place with every passing day."

"It has always been dark, Abby," Tobias said softly. "The dark places are just beginning to be lit up."


	13. XIII

**A/N: **Sorry it's been longer than usual, guys! Chapter fifteen is giving me trouble. I should be able to put a dent in the story tomorrow, though, so no worries! In the meantime, we have a nice meaty (haha) chapter to tide you over.

Enjoy! Much love to all my new reviewers!

* * *

September 8th, 1888  
29 Hanbury Street

A runner from Whitechapel had summoned the surgeon at four thirty in the morning, for a child who had tumbled down the stairs in the family's home on Hanbury Street. The child had suffered a bump on the head and a sore rump. Tobias gave his diagnosis and recommended treatment, and had gone on his business.

He had left out of the back door and gone out onto the street when he saw, strolling down an intersecting road, a woman. She appeared idle, unlike other women who would be up at such an hour: mothers and wives with errands to run. Tobias's breath caught and he dashed back into the yard of the house he had just left. It was risky, he knew, but he didn't know when he'd get another opportunity.

He nodded to a man leaving his home, a leather apron thrown over his shoulder. The man was presumably on his way to work. Tobias would have to be quick, if he wanted to avoid any other early risers.

As he stashed his bag and cane behind an outhouse in the yard, he removed a Liston knife from his amputation kit. He slipped it into his right sleeve and walked out onto Hanbury street, towards the Brick Lane intersection where she stood.

" 'Scuse me, mum," Tobias said, the rough accent of his childhood, refined over years of fashionable company, returning to his voice. He looked down briefly before looking back up at her, smiling sheepishly.

"What you need, darlin'?" asked the woman, stepping closer to him.

"Well, I was just wonderin' if you'd, em..." He trailed off and jerked his head towards the entrance to the backyard he'd just left.

The woman giggled and nodded. Grinning like a teenager, Tobias offered her his arm. She slipped hers through it and they made their way back to the yard. Tobias stifled his limp considerably, though it pained him, and covered his occasional slips by staring at the woman the whole way, and acting like he was tripping over his feet.

"Just through there," he said, nudging her through the entrance ahead of him. The yard was still empty.

"Oh, now this is cozy, innit, dearie?" the woman said, laughing.

"Aye, mum, near as pretty as you," Tobias said. "Turn around an' lemme look at ya, eh?"

The woman began to turn, giggling. The Liston knife dropped into Tobias's hand and he flicked it out. It flashed once in the growing light as it sliced her throat across. Her mouth gaped as she bled to death, but no sound left her lips. She crumpled to the ground.

Working swiftly, Tobias dragged his kit out and pulled the body into a corner, positioning himself over her so that at a glance it would look like exactly what it was supposed to be. He dragged a pair of gloves on, pushed her dress up and sliced her abdomen open. Why, he couldn't have said; but he took a larger jar out of his bag and put her uterus in it.

_"One of the singular traits of madness," Dr. Phillips said, "is the compulsion to do something that seemingly has no purpose. The lunatic will meticulously and deliberately perform an action, but when questioned, will be unable to give a reason for doing so." _

"Time to go."

Tobias looked up, startled, and saw Sweeney Todd standing over him. The demon's expression was alert as he stared into the distance, listening, before looking back down at the surgeon. Tobias stared, bewildered, at the apparition. Something was different. Was he somehow...more substantial than before? He had been able to grasp Tobias's chin before, but had still appeared gaunt like a skeleton. It seemed—it almost appeared as though Todd had a little more...meat on his bones.

"Finish!" hissed Todd. "The yard will not be clear much longer!"

Immediately, Tobias was on his feet, taking off his gloves and shoving everything into his bag. Sweeney Todd handed him his oak cane and both of them made their rapid way out onto the street. They did not slow their pace until they reached Commercial Street, one of the main roads in Whitechapel. Tobias felt a cold hand squeeze his shoulder and knew without looking around that Todd was gone.

He went to visit Mrs. Young, since he had been meaning to check on her that day initially. He had been there for half an hour, however, when he heard shouts in the street.

"What's going on out there?" Mrs. Young asked from her chair. Tobias, sitting in front of her, looked up.

"There's people runnin' towards Hanbury," Michael said from the window. "The Inspector just walked past!"

Tobias stood up. He patted blind old Mrs. Young's folded hands.

"I must go now. The inspector will need my help," he said.

"There hasn't...been another one?" asked Eliza, Mrs. Young's only daughter, who had stayed with the old woman rather than get married. Tobias looked at her grimly, knowing exactly what she referred to.

"I'm afraid it's likely," the surgeon said. "Good day."

He gathered his things and limped out the door. Abberline was several paces ahead, moving quickly. Wincing, Tobias knew he wouldn't be able to catch up with him. His leg was throbbing, and had been since his exertions that morning. And yet, he could not just appear at the scene and claim to have followed the man; the streets were becoming too busy for such singling out of one person.

"Abberline!" he yelled. As he'd hoped, the inspector stopped and looked around. Tobias hoisted his satchel as high as he could and Abberline spotted him.

"Tobias!" the older man said, coming back to him. "I had hoped to find you in Whitechapel. I went by Bridge Street, but Abigail said you'd been called out quite early."

"I had," Tobias said.

"Nothing serious? It's kept you here long," Abberline asked.

"No, no," Tobias replied. "It was a small matter. I went to Mrs. Young's after leaving the emergency, since I check on her Saturdays. I knew she would be up, and there was no point troubling my leg with two trips to Whitechapel."

Abberline nodded, then clasped Tobias's shoulder.

"Another murder, Tobias," he said in a low voice. "Hanbury Street."

"Hanbury Street?" Tobias repeated, quietly. "I was there just this morning; that's where the emergency was. 29 Hanbury Street."

"Ah, the exact address!" Abberline breathed as they began to walk, swiftly as Tobias could manage. "Did you see anyone there? You arrived at what time?"

"Five o'clock," Tobias said. "I passed no one on entering, and upon leaving I saw only a man, who exited on his way to work, I presumed."

"How did you exit?"

"Out the back yard."

Abberline's eyes flashed and his jaw clenched.

"What time did you leave?" asked the inspector.

"I was there perhaps twenty minutes," Tobias replied. Abberline nodded. "Frederick...where has it been said she was found?"

"In the back yard," Abberline said. "In a corner hidden from the street."

They were silent until they came upon the yard, where officers and constables were trying to keep people away from the body. They broke their line to allow Abberline and Tobias through. Both men approached the body with grim looks on their faces, both of their jaws set, though different thoughts produced their expressions.

"Annie Chapman," said the sergeant, seeing them. "Dark Annie's what they call her around here. She was staying at a nearby lodging house. Said she couldn't pay for the night, so she went out to earn it."

"A prostitute, then?" said Abberline.

"Every now and then," the sergeant replied. "From what people've said, she could earn a good living without selling herself if she wanted."

"This is different," said Tobias from where he knelt, next to the body.

"What?"

"She wasn't strangled," the surgeon said. "She died from blood loss, after her throat was cut."

Abberline knelt next to Tobias and peered at the cut. The surgeon reached out, pointing at the edges of the cut.

"There's some roughness to the edges. The blade was sharp, that's clear, but the cut was very quick," he said. "Too quick to avoid some snagging of the skin."

"He knew he wouldn't have much time," Abberline said.

Tobias gently laid his hands on Annie's limbs, feeling for the stiffness and the body temperature that would help him determine how long ago she had died; or would have, if he hadn't already known.

"Lord," he said softly, pulling back his hands and standing.

"What?" asked Abberline, standing with him. Tobias looked at him with incredulity.

"She's been dead but half an hour," he said. "I...I must have just missed him."

Abberline reached up and squeezed Tobias's shoulder.


	14. XIV

**A/N: **Hello readers! I've finally finished chapter fifteen, though it's shorter than I would have liked; anyway, I now feel comfortable posting chapter fourteen. I always like to be a chapter ahead of what I've posted, so I still have something to update with if I get stuck--I can only hope I don't get stuck for too long!

A lot of people have added this story to their story alerts, so thanks for that! And, as always, a big thank you to my reviewers, especially FrecklesatWork and Elwyndra, who have been constantly following and reviewing! Much love to you all. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

"That wasn't the worst of it, Abby," Tobias said, his voice straining. He was sitting now in their parlor, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he rocked back and forth. He was extremely distressed, though he refused the glass of brandy Abberline offered him. Cate had tried to have him eat, but he would have none of it. Abigail was on her knees before him, trying to calm him down; Abberline and Cate watched soberly from the doorway.

"What?" Abigail asked. She turned and looked at Frederick when Tobias looked away. "What did this monster do?"

Abberline took a deep breath.

"He...removed her womb," the inspector said solemnly. Abigail's hand flew to her mouth.

"In God's name, why?" she said, revulsion on her face.

"Only he knows!" exclaimed Tobias, on his feet now, pacing. His limp was more pronounced than usual, as his entire body seemed to tremble with his agitation. "He must be a madman, Abberline. A madman with anatomical knowledge!"

"Tobias, please!" Abigail rose after her husband and seized him, dragging him back over to an armchair and forcing him down. She perched herself on the arm and held him to her; he turned his face into her shoulder and clutched at her waist.

"This agitation is my fault," said Abberline, almost to himself. He rubbed his forehead firmly and sighed. A moment more in this position, and he looked up with sudden determination in his face. He strode over to the chair where Tobias sat and knelt before the younger man.

"Tobias, I shall not call you to the next scene," he said. "You are still in a delicate state of body and mind, after being viciously attacked. I should not have...would not have, in the first place, except I thought you might be clever enough to aid the investigation of something so ghastly and unnatural. But no, I see now that though you have the intellect you are still unhealthy."

But Tobias seemed not to have heard any of the inspector's words, save for his first sentence. The young surgeon drew back from his wife and looked at Abberline with horror on his face.

"You believe there will be another?" he said, his voice trembling.

"I think there must be," said Abberline grimly. He stood and went over to a small couch, seating himself there with a weary expression. "There are reasons behind these murders, and until the reasons are no longer relevant I think he must continue."

"A ritual," Abigail said suddenly. She looked down at her husband, running her hand over his hair, before glancing back at Abberline with intensity in her eyes. "You remember, Tobias, how we speculated after the first murder that it may be ritualistic."

"A ritual, you say," Abberline said quietly, musing over the idea. Tobias watched him think fearfully, his arm rigid around Abigail's waist. "They do appear...sacrificed, almost."

"I have heard legends of such sacrifices," Abigail said earnestly. "I have heard tell of them from Father's old captains, who have in the past traveled all the world." She looked very seriously at Abberline, her hand furiously caressing Tobias's hair. "They have told of natives who cut your throat on an altar and let you bleed, and sometimes remove organs and eat them, to appease their terrible gods."

Abberline's eyebrows raised in mild interest.

"A foreigner, then, as my superiors wish me to prove? Or someone who, like Abby, has simply heard the stories," he said, not really to any of them. He appeared to be lost in thought, unaware of their presence beyond hearing their words.

Tobias had begun to tremble, and Abigail leapt up, alarmed.

"To bed!" she cried. "We must get him to bed; Frederick, dear, come help me!"

* * *

Even after Abigail and Abberline had left the room, Tobias remained still and silent, laying on his back on the bed. His eyes were wide and fearful, scanning back and forth across the room, waiting. He knew what was coming, he had resigned himself to that; but not knowing_when_ was terrifying.

He didn't have to wait long. His nose seemed hyper-aware of the odor that soon filled the room. Tobias gagged on the pungent stench of rotting flesh and sat up, choking.

"Suffer it, lad, it won't be around much longer," said a deep, gravely voice from the shadows.

"It's worse than last time!" Tobias said hoarsely, reaching for the class of water Cate had left by his bedside.

Sweeney shrugged as he came into the light.

"They're not my revenge," Tobias continued, his voice trembling but steadily gaining strength. "You put revenge in my mind!"  
Todd stopped his stroll around the room and stared at Tobias; the corpse's face was in shadow, but the young man could feel those mad eyes on him, appraising him.

"Why do you need these sacrifices, Todd?" asked the surgeon, his voice hard and accusing now. "What hellish scheme have you conceived?"

"No scheme," said Todd shortly. "I'm _helping_ you, Mr. Ragg, and you'd do well to remember that."

Tobias didn't answer, and Sweeney Todd disappeared into the shadows again; but he had seen what he needed to see. The corpse had indeed had more flesh on it than before, and the slit in its neck, just visible through the unfastened collar, was red with inflammation, like a new wound.


	15. XV

**A/N: **I'm sorry I've kept you waiting! The spring semester has begun and classes are taking up a lot of time now--but we're almost finished, if you can bear with me a few more chapters!

Fifteen's shorter than I'd wanted it, but it gave me so much trouble--stupid transitional chapters. Anyway, I should have more written and up soon, so enjoy!

* * *

Tobias went to Lincoln's Inn Fields the next day, a Sunday. Abigail and Melody accompanied him; Abigail had had Cate pack them a picnic lunch. The weather was unnaturally clear, and Tobias sat staring up at the empty sky while Abigail and Melody ate and chatted.

So he had rooted it out at last; Sweeney Todd had contacted him from beyond the grave because the demon had discovered a way to become alive again—but for this, he needed sacrifices. Being still a ghost, or a corpse, or whatever the demon barber was, he was unable to collect these sacrifices himself...

...and so had enlisted Tobias to do it for him.

He almost laughed to himself. Sweeney had, for the most part, ignored him when he'd worked for Mrs. Lovett, with the exception of the night he asked the boy to deliver a letter, the night his happiness in that place had ended. _To think that I was ever happy there_, Tobias thought dryly. _What an abomination it was_.

And he had been under the impression that he had escaped it! That all he had been left with were nightmares, and those he had been content to forget when the morning came! No, it was clear that he had not left Mrs. Lovett and her ghastly lover behind; Sweeney Todd, at least, had come again for him, now having a use for the boy he had ignored._Would that you had forgotten about me completely, Todd_.

He felt a hand on his knee and looked over to see Abigail watching him. Her face was blank, though her eyes were intent; and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, eye to eye, looking _into_ each other. Tobias saw a woman who loved him, and Abigail saw that her husband had returned to her. He smiled at her, took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips; lingering there, as he had done months ago at her birthday party. She smiled widely in return, tears showing briefly in the corners of her eyes; then Melody spotted Frederick Abberline across the way, and pointed at him as she shouted gleefully, and they turned to greet their friend.

* * *

Abigail rejoined Tobias in the master bedroom that night. Sweeney Todd would not appear when Abigail was present; instead, he tried to sidle into mirrors and catch the surgeon's gaze. Aware of this, Tobias used no mirrors except in well-lit rooms, and more often checked his appearance by Abigail or Cate.

He stopped walking into Whitechapel, taking a carriage instead, explaining that as the weather began to get colder his leg pained him greatly. He also began to go into the district less. He still maintained his rounds on Thursdays, of course, but he cut his check-ups where it was possible, and was less inclined to run out to the district at every "emergency" call he received. He invited Abigail to go with him, which she was more than happy to do.

Tobias heard nothing from Todd, and had no nightmares, but the surgeon remained vigilant. Now that he knew what the dead barber's object was, he was under no illusion that the demon would surrender so easily to Tobias's attempts to evade him.

Weeks passed without any sign of Sweeney Todd, however, and with each barber-less day Tobias grew more and more confident, and more like his old self.

Was it possible that Sweeney had abandoned his cause? Tobias had heard of no other murders in Whitechapel that could have been described as sacrificial, so the demon had not found a new living hand—but it was unlike the creature to be so submissive. There were moments when Tobias became again possessed by fear, sure that Todd would appear at any moment; but the moments passed, and Todd did not come, and Tobias would again forget.

But old Sweeney knew what he was doing.


End file.
